Bedtime Stories
by ChesirexKittyxCat
Summary: Not all Arthur stories have to include romance, they just need a little "faith, trust, and pixie dust" really.


Bedtime Stories

Summary: Not all Arthur stories have to include romance, they just need a little "faith, trust, and pixie dust" really.

Rating: Rated T Because I'm Paranoid That Way

Disclaimer: I Don't Own Arthur/England/Britain Or Hetalia, But I Sure Wish I Did!

This Is Dedicated To PerfectTempest (both here and on Quizilla. com) For Her Awesome Hetalia Stories/Quizzes! Keep Rocking! :3

Song Of The Chapter: "Stealing Cinderella" By Chuck Wicks

(I Posted This On My Quizilla Account, And It Did Well Though I Wrote It 2 Months Ago, Does This Count For National Novel Writing Month? I Doubt It, But I'm Still Adding It To My Word Count. XD)

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I sighed as I opened my door, the day had been long and hard, though it had not been because of work. My hands in my pockets, I decided to take my last part of the day reading, though I didn't know what to read.

I scanned my bookshelf, my fingers drawing against the binds, and stopped when I saw my hardcover copy of Peter Pan. My fingers went across the book, my face showing a small, sheepish smile as I wiped the dust off.

Not taking my eyes off the cover, I walked to my desk, my world lit only by a couple of lamps, and went into the world of Neverland once again.

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Arthur could remember how he never thought he'd be staying long, but the young girl he met in that place interested him. Her past scarred her, caused the gentleman to be on the verge of tears when he heard it, but then she'd give him those innocent puppy eyes and call him by that odd little nickname she gave him…

And so, then he'd put on a brave face for her and smile, living the biggest lie while he acted like nothing was wrong.

They had met on accident really; he had been really trying to get away from the idiot, America. He had ran into a random building and almost regretted where he hid, inside a children's hospital. He remembered how he stammered and was about to run out of there, red, because of all the female nurses playing with the children starring at him, when he felt something tug on him.

_"Peter Pan!" the little girl stated intelligently, her mouth open as a little o in amazement, as she pointed at him_

He could remember every image of that tiny little girl. Her short brown hair and her big doe eyes, overfilled to the brim with imagination and curiosity, her freckles across her face were the same color as that disgusting chip that America had come up with, uh,… Cheetos? Yes, her freckles looked like the same color as Cheetos. And her feet were bare and probably felt like ice because of the freezing cold tile. She had been wearing a simple lavender nightgown, despite the fact that it was almost noon, with a violet bow at the collar. In her arms was a stuffed tiger with mismatched buttons for eyes. The arms of the stuffed animal were uneven and the fur was left only in patches, destroyed by the love of children.

He'd never forget that little girl's name, Jane. Jane Winifred Lewis.

Though unintentional, she had scarred him. She had scarred him forever, for the rest of his life. He'd never be able to forget her, and his heart would always ache when he tried..

He could shamelessly remember how he had been asked to play with the little girl, how he had sat down with her (already feeling embarrassed because of the nurses) and thought that she'd give him a doll of some sort to play with her tiger—

She handed him a hardcover copy of classical bedtime stories. They included all his favorites, all his friends; unicorns, fairies, pirates, princes, and princesses… He blinked when she snaked her way so she was sitting on top of his lap, the two sitting next to a warm window as the light flooded in, giving the room an almost sleepy feeling.

Never stammering, his voice strong with a smile, pleased he was passing down his favorite object onto yet another child, as he spoke the four timeless words,

_"Once upon a time…"_

He had failed to notice that a window worked too ways, and that the man who had forced him in there was watching the two with a smile. Leaving the two so he couldn't be subject for the possibility of interruptions of the classic tales.

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He came in again the next day, shyly, as he looked at the nurses, _"Uh, if I may ask… is Jane Lewis available for visits?"_

Immediately remembering him from the other day, one of the nurses grabbed his wrist and smiled, _"Of course sir, visiting hours are allowed from one to five, and she isn't seeing anyone at this moment."_

Shyly he entered the room, the nurse having to give him a push however. Slowly he turned the doorknob only to be confronted by a familiar brown-eyed girl and her tiger.

_"Peter Pan!"_

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He remembered one day they drew for the whole day.

Another, he read her Mother Goose, having to stop for her constant questions of 'Why?'. They had not been bothersome on purpose, but truly curious, which was why he could remember being so tolerate.

Once, they just sat down on her bed on a stormy day, drinking tea with biscuits and just… talking. About anything and everything, the only subject he was sure that they had missed was what was the secret of life.

He took her to a circus, the nurses trusting him fully by now, and she got to ride on an elephant for the first time. She saw a lion tamed by a human, a woman do ballet on a thin stretch of wire, and a group of 15 clowns illogically get in and out of a tiny car barley fit for ONE of them.

He introduced her to his friends, and to both person's absolute delight, she could see them. Later on, he mused, it was probably because of the inevitability that awaited her, that God allowed her to see the pegusi, pixies, leprechauns, and the knights that he always could see.

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Though Parliament at first resisted, after 3 months of visits (almost daily) with Jane, he had moved plenty pounds of money from the military budget to the health care and education shares.

His visits continued, only for something horrible to occur. He had made the mistake of asking and looking through her file.

Her parents had been murdered in a mob, another one of those mobs against the economy. The girl, holding her tiger, had been photographed as witnesses. So not only had she been forced to witness her parents sudden deaths, but she was forced to recall every moment, every detail, of a memory she just wanted so badly to suppress. It had caused her to momentarily have to go to therapy for almost a full 2 years, when she had been taken as positive in this illness that caused the human body to slowly shut down. He couldn't remember the name, not that he wanted to. Her extended family had been taking care of her up until then and their insurance funded in vain for her treatments. The hospital eventually had no more treatments that the family could afford, so Arthur immediately dug into his own pocket to pay, paid for the best doctors, the most effective treatments. But again, they were in vain.

Jane Winifred Lewis was going to DIE.

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He could remember asking Jane's family if he could take her into his care for a while. Since the family had been a self-sacrificing, generous bunch, they agreed she could stay with him until the day she died.

In two months was her due date.

Just two months… And he was determined to make them the best months of her life.

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He took her to each and every country, maybe so she could see the world before she died, maybe in case one of the other countries had an effective cure, Arthur didn't know. He could remember her laughing in Paris with that frog when he took them to the top of the Eiffel Tower, treating them (out of pity) for lunch. She gave him a hug goodbye.

He could remember Japan making her 100 cranes out of origami, bewildering the girl with his talent and the colors/patterns of the creatures. She gave him a hug goodbye.

He could remember her making pasta with those Italian twins and Spain. Taking them to Rome, Venice, to see the sights. She gave them each a hug goodbye.

He took her to Austria in which he amazed her in childish awe with his musical talent, Hungary amazing her in the same awe when she saw her artwork. He could even remember her comically burning her tongue when she was too eager for the cookies the all made. She hugged them both goodbye.

Germany.

Goodbye.

Turkey.

Goodbye.

Prussia.

Goodbye

Egypt.

Goodbye.

And so many more…

Heck, he even took her to America! He could remember the twit tearfully hugging the girl goodbye and saying something he thought America would NEVER say. To anybody but himself anyway.

"_Y-You're a hero, dude."_

He could remember spending her last weeks in England though. She got to meet both sides of Parliament, with a wide smile, and even with the Queen and King of England. Immediately, she got along with the young Prince, and the young gentleman could've sworn that the Prince just got his first crush. Took her to Big Ben, on a Double-Decker bus, called her Princess (because of the Prince's obvious crush on the girl, teasing her mercilessly about it after they left), Tinkerbell, and even his little girl.

He could remember their last night together. She had just had a nightmare and ran to his room, crying her eyes out about how Captain Hook had killed Peter Pan, Arthur.

He could remember whispering comforting words to her, teasing her about becoming a Princess one last time, and made them both some tea afterwards, he read her Peter Pan to help calm her nerves.

Oh how ironic that she had a dream about him dieing the day before _she_ died.

On July 4th.

The same day he lost his other child.

He could remember cursing God, yelling why, why did he have to take her away. That little bundle of happiness and joy…!

_**"BLOODY H*LL, SHE WAS JUST A CHILD!"**_

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He went to her funeral and was the last to speak.

He spoke these words, full of truth and tears as his voice faltered several times.

"J-Jane was a remarkable child… I-I met her accidentally in-in the hospital in which she was attending, on the last year of her life."

He could remember seeing all of them. That frog, France, Prussia, Italy, Spain, Egypt, Hungary, America, all crying their eyes out for the child they had known for only less then a week. While Romano, Japan, Turkey, Austria, and even Germany, vainly trying to keep theirs in. The rest of the crowd following in one of those two classes, though it mattered little in which they were in.

"…_I-I know that I cannot speak on Jane's behalf…"_

He noticed the Prince holding the girl's cold hand, his mother and father's hands on his shoulder.

"_But I know, at least for myself…"_ he gulped, trying to keep his voice from quivering, _"That they… those months I spent with her… were some of the best months of my life…"_ He looked around, vainly trying to prevent his gaze from looking at the coffin under him, _"I can see… That Jane, this little girl here… D-Did what we all thought was impossible. Not… Not that she brought all us, all us countries and humans alike, together, in a truce… But that she managed to never f-falter her sm-smile, even though… even though she knew she was going to d-die…"_

The stars were coming out now, as well as a beautiful crescent moon. He had been hoping for this as he ended his speech with his final words, giving himself the courage to look down at the girl's sleeping face, taking his hand and brushing away her banes from her face.

"…_We'll see you… on the second star to the right, Jane._

"_Once upon a time… Once upon a time…"_

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I put down my book of Peter Pan, the same copy that I had read to Jane the night she died, I myself having finished rereading the tale, yet again.

Seeing that it was more then half past 11, I put down the book on my redwood desk, held and stared at the stuffed tiger on my desk with another sheepish smile, before I traveled down the hall to my bed, feeling more tired and out on energy then usual. After having changed, I slipped underneath the covers and before turning out the lamp for sleep to overcome me, I took the photo of her inside a picture frame, covered with fairies and a carving of Peter Pan on the border, and stared at it for a good while.

It was the anniversary of her death, the death of Jane Winifred Lewis "Daughter, Friend, and God's Angel" (I had asked for that last to be added to her gravestone), and I could remember everything that had happened, every detail of that little girl's face as if it was just moments ago she has hugged me with a smile before falling asleep in my arms.

I could clearly remember kissing her goodnight and brushing her banes away from her face. I could remember what she whispered before she fell into that last sleep, and I could remember the tear and smile I gave her as I kissed her forehead goodnight.

_"I love you, Peter Pan."_

I put the picture back down and turned it so that the picture was face-down before turning out the lamp.

Hoping I'd get some sleep tonight.


End file.
